Red Bull
by evilexboyfriend
Summary: Red Bull gives you wings. Cas has got himself into a bit of a sticky situation and Dean can't seem to take it seriously. PURE CRACK and shamelessly fluffy Dean/Cas.


_A/N: I know, I _know_, Fear In Discovery. I've hit a wall (which means I'm being lazy) but I _promise_ I am back on writing it, and will be updated soon._

_In other news, I started watching Supernatural. This is what happened._

* * *

"Dean, I could use your help."

Cas' voice is static over the phone.

"How do you mean?"

The static pauses.

"I could use your help," Cas says again.

Dean stops walking. Something twists in his stomach at the ominous sense of role-reversal.

"What's happened?"

"I think… I think it's best if you just come."

* * *

Cas is slumped in the corner of the motel room, on the floor. It's almost as though he fell into it or something, Dean thinks, because around him is scattered debris of what _were_ the room's furnishings. A lamp has fallen off a dresser and the bulb has cracked. The bedside table has been knocked over, draws open and random motel crap spewing out. The sheets have been tugged half-way off the bed and lie in a tangled mess.

But Dean's not looking at that.

He's looking at the angel's wings. And he can't tear his eyes away.

Okay, so he's seen them before, in shadows and fleeting flutters in combat. But not like this. Not… not _out_.

They're huge. Like, really huge. Each one must be about twice as long as Dean is tall, and wide, narrowing further down. They look like typical angel wings, really, or at least how Dean's imagined; long layers of sleek feathers. But they're black. Or nearly black- it's kinda hard to tell. Every time Cas shifts the light catches them and the feathers shine dark, dark silver, sometimes flashes of deep blue. The right one is fully stretched out, draped across the bed. The left one is tucked in; reaching high above Cas' head and looking a bit squashed against the wall.

Cas, himself, is still wearing Jimmy's crumpled suit and trench-coat, but his usually blank face is etched with annoyance and embarrassment. No, Dean thinks. _Shame_.

"So, Cas," Dean clears his throat. "You, uh… nice wings."

"They're not mine," Cas says, and he sounds beyond frustrated. Dean raises an eyebrow and Cas' jaw clenches before he explains. "These aren't my true wings. They're a representation. A manifestation. If they were my true wings, you would know."

Dean nods, unsure of how to continue.

"Right," he says. "So you gonna tell me why they're filling my room or do you wanna just use them as a blanket to compensate for the broken heater?"

Cas' face goes tight and he does something Dean can only really describe as rolling his eyes, and hell, that's weird to see on Cas. Well, relatively weird. Not quite as weird as him going all bird-out in the middle of a tacky, plywood-walled motel.

"I drank Red Bull," Cas snaps. Dean blinks.

"I'm sorry, what?"

"I drank Red Bull."

Dean is silent for a few more seconds. Then he snorts and begins to laugh, doubling over and feeling for the nearest sideboard for support.

"It's not funny," Cas is saying and Dean tries to straighten up, wheezing and desperately attempting to control himself.

"Right, right, I know," he says between pants of laughter. "Are you shitting me, Cas?"

Castiel frowns. "I don't understand, I-"

"Are you freaking serious? You drank Red Bull?"

"Yes, I-"

"And it gave you wings? _Oh my God, Red Bull gave you wings_," Dean starts laughing again this time he doesn't stop. Cas' face grows stormier by the second and he takes a deep breath, waiting for Dean's hysterics die down as far as he thinks they're going to. Dean coughs and pulls a strangled expression as he tries to wipe the massive grin off his face.

"This is serious, Dean."

Dean's brow knits in the closest he can get to an act of concern and he nods, folding his arms.

"Right," he says, resisting the tugging sensation at the corners of his mouth. "How did they- fuck, never mind. What do we do?"

So many questions. None of them really make it to the surface without a smirk and 'are you freaking serious?' is still the one pressing at the front of his mind.

Cas moves a little and his right wing pushes a pillow off one side of the bed. "I don't know," he admits.

"Can't they retract, like a tape-measure?" Dean asks and he swears it sounded less idiotic in his mind. Cas shakes his head.

"They aren't meant to be here at all."

"I got that."

Cas glares. "Sometimes some angels have… stimuli. Triggers, and the wings manifest themselves without command. It is rare, but not entirely unheard of. The usual practice is to sleep it off."

"You don't sleep."

"Figuratively speaking."

Dean perches on the end of the bed, trying to process it all, but it's all a bit too fucking weird to get his head around. The wing beside him twitches when he accidentally brushes against it.

"Can you feel that?" Dean asks, looking at the wing, then Cas, then back at the wing.

"Yes," Cas says. "Wings are extremely sensitive."

"No kidding," Dean breathes, running his eyes over the massive appendage. "Can I… I mean, it's not like a sin to touch them?"

"It is fine."

"So can I?"

Cas hesitates and Dean turns his face towards him. "Yes," Cas says with less certainty than Dean is used to hearing from him.

"You sure? You don't seem 100 percent."

"Just be gentle," Cas says and the way Dean looks at Cas is a silent 'of course'.

Dean's hand wavers over the limb as he wonders where to start. Slow, carefully, he traces his fingers in downward strokes over the inky feathers, smiling slightly as they bristle underneath his touch, each one shifting under his fingertips before relaxing and settling. When Dean looks at Cas, Cas is looking at Dean's hand with a mixture of nerves that don't suit his face.

"Hey," Dean says. "I'm not gonna hurt you. I'm being gentle."

Cas likes the way he says 'you', not 'them'.

Dean runs his hand over the top of the wing, feeling the bone- bone?- underneath the down, extending his arm until he reaches the very tip; the smallest black feather. Suddenly, the wing trashes upwards, smacking Dean squarely in the face. He blinks in sheer shock.

"Cas, did I-"

"_That_-" Cas' voice is higher than normal and breathless.

"That what?" Dean asks. "Cas did that… did that _tickle_?"

Cas frowns as though the word is new to him- hell, it probably _is_- but he doesn't look in pain and Dean's face breaks into a grin of relief and amusement.

"You're ticklish," The angel is ticklish. _Ticklish_, for fuck's sake. "I thought I hurt you," Dean laughs.

"I told you, they're sensi-" Cas breaks off, both wings flailing, left one batting against the wall as Dean repeatedly runs his forefinger over the tiniest feather until the wing totally curls in, dragging Dean with it.

Dean lands in a heap, practically _on_ Castiel with his huge wing shrouding them both. Cas fucking _blushes_ and Dean thinks its freakishly adorable.

"Sorry," Cas mutters. He begins to unfurl his wing but Dean gently reaches up and takes the top, guiding it back round.

"Don't be, man," he says. It's too late for him to realise that this has probably gone past just one of their 'moments', because he's leaning in, pressing his lips against Cas' and covering one of Cas' hands with one of his own.

When he pulls away Cas just looks at him with his freaky angel stare and he can see the blue of those goddamn eyes through the darkness of their cover.

"I like these," Dean says softly, stroking a feather between his thumb and forefinger and Cas hums in appreciation. He budges Dean to the side a little so he can move his left wing and it opens, magnificent, towering above them before wrapping around the other one in a perfect cocoon Dean smiles because it's actually kind of fucking amazing.

"Why the hell were you drinking Red Bull, anyway?"

"I was curious as to how accurate the slogan was," Cas deadpans. Dean laughs.

"How bored _are_ you these days?"

Both of them are quiet then, pressing against each other (Dean would say cuddling, but Dean doesn't fucking cuddle), peaceful in the shadows of Cas' huge wings. Then Cas says something in his awkward tone- the one he uses when Dean says "I'd tap that," or the time Dean tried to explain Pacman to him.

"You kissed me."

Dean pauses. "Yeah," he says.

"Why?"

"I wanted to," says Dean simply. Through the darkness, he can just about see Castiel smile.

-_fin_-


End file.
